It Grows on You
by lorddmarvoloriddle
Summary: Every single day, with dead precision, at Tom's orders, Borgin would lead the poorly dressed unlucky persons who wandered into Borgin & Burkes into the back of the shop and acquire precious body parts. And then the boy. (harry potter/tom riddle, dark, tomarrybigbang2018)
1. Chapter 1

beta by the amazing Vanillaghost whom I thank for all the help with all my heart:)

* * *

None of the shop owners dared intervene with Tom and his _work_ on the rare occasions he returned for supply purposes.

It was not the kind of public work that certain wealthy individuals were aware of back in the hallowed halls of the Ministry. No, it was the kind of work that was both a source of excitement and frustration for those who followed Tom's rare visits to the shady shop down in Knockturn Alley. A great deal shadier than most people gave it credit for.

It suited Tom just fine.

At twenty-eight years, and in the midst of something far greater than working at the Ministry Of Magic, the hours spent on his secret work proved useful. And pleasurable, to tell the truth. There was an immense beauty in assembling a being all by himself, with his own two hands and the aid of his magic. Especially after the long hours of looking over tedious paperwork and mending the imbecilic mistakes of incompetent people of wealth. And his beings were not mere corpses like the Inferi, but something capable of thought — even if their ears functioned only for Tom's commands. _Especially for it_. He appreciated his followers a great deal, yet having these creatures at his disposal was something else entirely. Something thrilling. His own creation. His child, in a sense.

The ludicrous thought brought a grin to Tom's lips.

He cast another look at the book settled on Borgin's massive desk when the doorbell rang and Tom's smirk widened. Maybe an early client? Or maybe a _special_ client?

It was a young boy, surely no older than fifteen. A well-dressed boy with wide green eyes who stared at Tom from across the room. Panting, leaning with his back against the door, and black hair curled over his forehead. _A pretty boy._

"Are you lost?"

The boy did not move his eyes away — not even to stare at the contents of the shop — and merely furrowed his brow in something akin to annoyance. In response to the grin still gracing Tom's lips, he stepped away from the door and foolishly inched toward the counter.

Well, this could be fun. Tom was rather bored as it was.

"Of course not," the boy finally responded with bravery. Or was it arrogance? "I was simply… in need of a place to hide. For a time. Not long."

Tom closed _Transmogrifian Torture_ and tapped a long finger against it. "And did it cross your mind that what you'll find in here may be far more dangerous than what was chasing you outside? Not to mention the fine alley you've wondered into…"

Green eyes narrowed and the boy scooped up the tall chair in front of the ancient desk and sat in it with his hands in his lap. Tense but composed. Tom was already intrigued and placed his bare forearms on the counter to lean forward. To his delight, his young visitor did not flinch.

"They were not really chasing me, _sir_ ," the boy insisted. "I simply bumped into the wrong sort of people while away from my parents. And they were rather insistent. Then again, Knockturn Alley is always filled with the wrong sort of people, but at least to me you don't appear so."

"How do you know?"

The boy's staring had been obvious before but was downright tragic now. Tom was a very attractive man and he knew it, and as such the look in the boy's eyes was familiar. But more surprisingly, not bothersome either. Usually such behaviour irritated him and engaging in pointless teasing with a schoolboy had never been on his list of pleasurable activities. Yet here he was, the Dark Lord chatting with a witty boy. Tom did not even enjoy children.

"You don't look like it," came the response followed by a shrug. "I mean… yeah, you're kinda old but still good-looking, well-clothed, tolerant enough to sit here and chat with me while you sell things that could kill people with a touch. Soooo… I believe you're all right. Sir."

"I am certainly not that old, young man," Tom corrected with a smirk, not bothering to correct the child on his assumption that he worked there. Not regularly, at least.

"Still old enough to be my father," the boy teased, his lips stretched into a grin as well.

"Are you in search of a father?"

"No, thank you, I already have one."

"Shame," Tom teased, "And here I was, offering you a stable environment for a little family. We even look somewhat alike… It could definitely work."

The boy surprised him by laughing, a genuine laugh that succeeded in bringing a twitch to Tom's lips. The brat was entertaining, there was no denying it. A tiny hand was offered over the table and Tom responded by presenting his own.

"My name's Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

The Potter heir… how interesting indeed. The son of James Potter held his hand and Tom needed all the self-control he could muster not to let his feelings be known — praised be his vast experience in doing just that. And oh, the irony! To have the son of the man hunting him present himself just like that. If Tom believed in destiny he would have said this could be nothing but fate smiling upon him.

"Tom Riddle. A pleasure."

He released Harry's hand a little later than was proper but no complaint met his ears.

"So," Harry trailed. "Were you busy?"

Tom raised an eyebrow before dramatically gazing across the dark corners of the shop. Spiderwebs and all. The boy pouted and was rewarded with one of Tom's grins. The type of grin he had used on the old hag Hepzibah Smith. Except he found it came far more effortlessly this time. Almost natural. (And that was one thought to dwell on later. Or preferably never — and never could mean a tremendously long time to an immortal being.)

"Right… stupid question. Anyway, I should be going or mum'll freak out for disappearing without notice. I bet she already is."

Tom's nails dug into the book's cover, grin still in place. "Oh, that's a shame. You can't be shopping for Hogwarts as it's the beginning of the summer, so what's the hurry?"

There was no trace of fear in the boy's green eyes. Harry was genuinely comfortable in his presence and Tom almost wished he wasn't. To have nothing but pure terror from the boy brought a shiver to Tom's spine. But the wild dream had to be set aside for the time being.

"Just a visit to Gringotts. I'm pretty sure we should have been home already," Harry explained with a grimace.

 _I could have the boy now. No one would know. Find my way into his inviting body before any life left those eyes._ Before he completely belonged to Tom. Nothing was stopping him. Not really.

But that was a lie.

It was that face that was stopping him, and the possibility of this meeting — which could go nowhere and anywhere at the same time. Tom had waited for a variety of things in his life. He could wait for Harry Potter as well.

"Come," he offered, stepping from behind the counter, his hand finding its way to Harry's shoulder. So slender in his grasp, and so eager to be there. "There's no need to travel through Knockturn Alley, especially without a companion. It could end tragically."

As soon as the boy stepped into the fireplace, his eyes found Tom's. The Floo powder wasted away in his small fist as Harry still did not say the name of his destination. The thought of leaving did not settle well with the child, or so it seemed.

"It really was nice meeting you, Mister Riddle. Truly."

"I know, Harry."

The smile they shared lingered even after Harry disappeared into flames as green as his eyes. Tom remained there, staring at the place the boy once stood for a disturbingly long amount of time. Thinking.

* * *

When the invitation to the Malfoys' party arrived, everyone was left speculating. Sirius had not received one, so why would Harry's family?

"Something fishy is going on here…"

James' rather muggle remark was undoubtedly true but went unnoticed by Harry. It was about the Malfoys, so of course his father had ill feelings about it. In the last two or three years, the menace of this new Dark Lord was looming over their family once again. Despite the Ministry's efforts, the man's identity remained a mystery but James was still convinced the Malfoys were somehow involved despite there being no actual proof. Harry and his mother did not share the same sentiment, at least not as much. Certainly the blonde family were pricks, but that did not mean they would offer their undying support to a megalomaniacal wizard who thought himself better than everyone else. And on that note, Harry wasn't so sure if said man even existed. It wasn't like anyone had actually seen him. Only heard of him through rumours spread by questionable individuals.

In the end, the invitation was accepted.

So here they were, on the evening of the twenty ninth of June, mingling with the good folks of Malfoy manor. Or better said; his parents had been, for just about the last ten minutes, involved in a rather lively conversation with Mrs Zabini of all people while Harry carried his glass of champagne from one place to the other and avoided his schoolmates like the plague. Pansy Parkinson threw him a nasty look from where she hung on Draco's arm and Harry felt compelled to return the gesture. Draco himself was surprisingly civil, merely nodding his head in Harry's direction when he passed the couple. Harry then struggled not to bump into a high-ranking politician and the rich family from Greece who spoke and acted like goofs — the four of whom were scattered all across the room and were a challenge not to stumble into that way. Harry had almost stepped on the girl's foot before reaching the balcony. She was no older than seven, dolled-up in a distasteful pink thing that made Luna's clothes seem elegant. He mumbled a muffled 'excuse me' before escaping outside.

The summer air was heavy and insufferably warm, the terrains surrounding Malfoy manor appearing to stretch into the night and long past the tall iron gate at the front of the impressive house. Judging from the height, it seemed they were on the third floor and Harry sighed, placing his still full glass on the vast parapet made of something akin to marble. Harry was no specialist but the whole texture had a nice feel to it. Well, he thought, it did not really matter what it was. It was expensive and that much was clear.

The noise from the party amplified all of a sudden and Harry sighed, hoping it was not a schoolmate. And if it _was_ a schoolmate, he at least wished it was not Draco, though the unexpectedly civil behaviour tonight was never bound to last.

"Hello, Harry."

If Harry still held the glass, it would have surely smashed to the floor by now.

"Mister Riddle?"

It _was_ Mister Riddle, there was no doubt about it. He had only seen the man once, yet it was more than enough to paint a worthy picture. He smirked at Harry, smartly dressed in a black suit almost entirely muggle in fashion, and inched closer as if he owned the place. Thing was, Harry had never fancied anyone before, girl or boy — he was thirteen, soon to be fourteen— but he was kind of sure he fancied Mister Riddle. Enough to dream about him three days in a row now. That counted for something, did it not?

And the man was so handsome it could not be real. How could someone be so handsome? All sharp cheekbones and sharp eyes that could only belong to a god or in a fashion magazine. Not a human. And if that was not enough, his whole body, his whole posture, was flawless. Tall and broad shouldered, he towered over Harry as he neared, mirth dancing in his grey eyes.

 _Oh,_ Harry was sure he fancied the handsome Mister Riddle now.

"Might as well call me Tom if we came to the conclusion I was not going to be your father."

They looked at each other until Harry broke into laughter. Mister Riddle — _Tom_ _—_ patiently waited for him to finish before he extended a hand. "Very glad to meet you again," he said, taking hold of Harry's hand.

Call him crazy but Harry was convinced Mis — _Tom —_ was staring at him in a way that was too… _something_. And the firm hold on his hand was warm and inviting and Harry should really not read so much into this. Should not even think about it. All jokes aside, Tom _was_ old enough to be his father and just imagining his parents' reaction was a horror story with every chance to end up in tragedy.

Then Tom smiled down at him and his worries all went to hell.

"What's a shop worker doing here?" Harry found himself asking, not moving an inch from where he stood.

"What's James Potter's son doing here?" Tom bandied right back, amusement dripping from his words.

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second."

Harry sighed and tried to hide his mirth but it was to no avail. "You're terrible," he ended up chuckling.

"Perhaps. But it pleases you."

The words silenced Harry and their close proximity stung him like a bee. He should step back, run away… So many lessons from his childhood said he should. _Stranger danger_ , they warned. Tom was way too old and Harry was in way over his head. And maybe Tom already knew that…

"Sir… are you," Harry stammered. "Are you…"

"Courting you?" Tom finished for him, tilting his head like a bemused child.

 _This was really happening._

"Not the word I was thinking of, but yes." Harry's bravado surprised him and brought a wide smile to Tom's lips.

"It does not bother you."

Which was not a question at all.

Harry held his chin high, tasting Tom's amusement in the air. The man did not advance, nor did he move back. His eyes fixated on Harry, watching, waiting — all while being devastatingly handsome too.

"I… I did say you weren't so bad back in Knockturn Alley, but you've pretty much admitted to courting a thirteen-year-old boy. With all due respect, sir."

"Soon to be fourteen," Tom added. "And now we're back to _sir_ , are we?"

Harry was surprised. "I don't think it makes much difference."

"Oh, but I believe it does. For instance, _Harry_ , you are still here conversing with me instead of running inside to your parents crying about a bad man. Which raises the question of whether you are interested or not."

Growing up with James as his father, Sirius his godfather, and the Weasleys as his friends, Harry knew a game when he saw one. "How old are you?" he asked, testing the waters.

"Twenty eight," Tom responded in a heartbeat, advancing toward Harry who flinched. But the man merely reached for Harry's glass of champagne. "I won't touch you without permission, child."

Harry scoffed at him. "Considering you're trying to bring a child into your bed, calling said boy a 'child' is not the smartest thing to do, if you ask me."

"Trying? Succeeding would be far more appropriate, _child_."

The petty Draco Malfoy could not hold a candle to this man. In spite of the vile nature of their conversation, Harry could not bring himself to despise Tom and his wickedness. It was just… well, Tom was _special_ _,_ for lack of a better word, and Harry was far from loathing it. It appeared arrogance was kind of attractive to him. Not to mention, Tom Riddle was a handsome man offering him attention and Harry had a hopeless _childish_ crush on said man. And Mister Riddle must be aware of it.

"Dad will kill you if he finds out," Harry let out, cheeks pink. _He had just agreed._ _He had given Tom his permission and_ _open_ _ed a door to the unknown_. "Mum too."

"Harry, Harry… I do not make mistakes. Do the same and our little… _partnership_ will be beneficial for both parties. You have my word."

"Okay. How are we gonna —"

"I will not bend you over this balcony. I confess to not disliking the particular fantasy, but we'll need a more private setting for when you spread your legs for the first time." He wetted his lips on the champagne's glass before he passed it back to Harry. Still not touching him. "You will be informed of our arrangements, child. Just you wait."

As the man made to leave, Harry held onto the sleeve of Tom's coat. _Like a child._ "Tom? Are we sick?"

All amusement vanished at Harry's question. "Sick? Well, if we are, let's not aim for a cure."

Harry let go. Tom smirked and left.

* * *

The words scribbled on the page seemed to go on forever. It was summer and it was hot and Harry's mind lacked the necessary ability to concentrate. Barely a week had passed since his meeting with Tom and said man had decided to make himself at home in Harry's thoughts. Because really, picturing that handsome face and that cheeky smirk while his parents Sirius and Remus talked politics at the dinner table was such a good idea.

Harry groaned. The book was abandoned beside his now empty plate as he attempted to banish Mister Riddle from his mind.

"And as I was saying, Fudge is stepping down next year," James said. "Despite the scandal it will cause and everything. And it's not that it doesn't bring me any joy, but the individuals that are said to take his place… well… things are not looking good for us."

Well, all bad eventually came to some good. At least days before Harry had found out Tom Riddle worked at the Ministry, it had been mentioned briefly. An official down Knockturn Alley. (Such gossip to fall into the wrong ears…)

It was always the same subject these days. Either this or the other; Ministry affairs or the supposed Dark Lord lurking in the shadows eating children. And as always, Sirius nodded at James' words, offering his undying support.

Remus and Lily exchanged a look and Harry leaned back in his chair. The routine bored him. He could participate in the discussion if he wanted but Harry had done so before and there actually wasn't anything new to say. Everyone just repeated the same things over and over again, pretending to know what was happening in the world. As if it became truth this way. Harry knew as much and out of politeness decided to keep his mouth shut and his opinion to himself. Besides, his mother gave the impression she already knew Harry's thoughts.

Who had time to worry about a Dark Lord? Summer vacation felt more real, and it was here. Not like some supposed nameless wizard. Who cared about this man? About this ghost?

Harry excused himself from the lunch table and announced he was going to visit the Weasleys for the rest of the day. Well, that had been the initial plan. Truly. Fred and George just happened to insist on going to Diagon Alley and who was Harry to spoil the fun? Especially when he had a folded note in his trousers pocket that arrived outside his window yesterday morning to consider.

 _Coffee tomorrow_ , it read. No signature needed.

And here he was. Now Harry just had to get rid of the rest of the group. Which was quite easy. All he had to do was mention something about picking up a book or two and Harry was walking down Knockturn Alley all alone. Eyes followed but he kept his head high and his steps measured. Predators always followed if you ran. Then there were those predators who waited, and this one happened to be smoking a cigarette.

Of course Mister Riddle smoked. It fit with his sharp attire, handsome face, and steely voice. It would have been odd not to. Harry approached while the man measured him from head to toe. Tom was comfortably resting his back against the front of the shop, the half burnt cigarette between his fingers.

"Hello, Tom."

"Hello, Harry."

It came out far too intimate for a third meeting.

"I can't stay for too long. I'm here with friends and I said I have some things to do, but —"

Mister Riddle hummed, obviously not caring. "Let me offer you a drink. Your friends can survive without you for a time, I promise." The cigarette vanished and then a hand rested itself on Harry's shoulder, leading him down a shady street to an even shadier bar. It made sense. A Ministry worker like Mister Riddle couldn't appear in the company of a thirteen-year-old boy at The Three Broomsticks. People would talk and parents would find out. Some would not leave the house for the rest of the summer and some would have their political career demolished. Mister Riddle did not seem the type of man to take any unnecessary risks.

Tom bought himself a cup of black coffee and Harry was presented with hot chocolate.

"You said coffee," Harry noted.

"Figure of speech. This is far better for your health at this age."

Harry, of course, knew that. "I know some other things that aren't good for my age."

Tom grinned as he sipped his drink. "Fair enough. Also, you had the choice not to accept my invitation. One cannot say I kidnapped you for my pleasure."

Was there any point in playing word games? Mister Riddle would surely win in spite of Harry's dedication. But perhaps their little game served another purpose. Maybe it was easier to dance around each other than to actually talk about their… _business_. (Harry had to think of another word. Not business.)

Harry clenched his fingers around his cup and met Tom's grey eyes. Harry was being looked at and obviously Mister Riddle had noticed the trembling of his hands. If he thought Harry weak, he held the opinion to himself. The only clear thing in Tom's gaze was interest and the faintest trace of amusement.

"Were you… Were you serious back at the party?"

Their circular table was located in one of the many corners of the bar and far away from the other clients, as few as they were. Mister Riddle had probably cast some privacy ward or something similar. Which meant distasteful words could be said.

"You are a smart boy, Harry. What do you think?" Tom countered.

"I think you were but I don't understand," Harry confessed, leaving all modesty aside. "I'm still a child and you're older. You work at the Ministry, you're powerful, you're handsome… and I bet many other things. And, yeah, I have a crush on you. Who wouldn't? But… why would you be interested? I don't… I don't understand."

Mister Riddle was looking at him almost fondly. For a long moment he said nothing, and then holding Harry's eyes, Tom extended a hand over the table between their half finished drinks, palm up. If Harry blushed it was perfectly normal. Keeping his composure he let his own hand rest above Mister Riddle's, interlocking their fingers. How small his hand appeared… at least two times smaller than Tom's. It was oddly endearing. And how wholesome it felt! It was the first time Harry held hands with another person and, in that sense, it was glorious! Maybe that's how it ought to be, or maybe it was just the man before his eyes that made the difference.

"Does it matter? I could write you a confession or tell you beautiful words about your green eyes, rosy lips, and other features alike. But at the end of the day it will all come down to a single aspect. You caught my interest and that is why I'm interested, in spite of all the other valid aspects you mentioned. Now… does this satisfy you?"

"So you're really…"

"Yes, Harry. I _really_ _am_ interested."

Okay, then. Their hands separated.

"Well, now what?" Harry asked. He wanted this, wanted Mister Riddle to be pleased and needed specific instruction on how to achieve that. It wasn't like he had any previous experience, after all.

"I am a bit of a traditionalist so I believe a date is the appropriate course of action for us now."

So they did just that. Cups forgotten on the table, they talked about themselves and everything else. Harry found out Tom was an orphan and Tom found out how terribly bored Harry actually was with all the Dark Lord talk going on in his family. Smiles were exchanged. Finally, Harry thought, someone who understood! Someone who needed evidence before they spoke! It seemed not everything was lost in this world.

Mister Riddle also displayed curiosity in Harry's schoolwork, what subjects he enjoyed, what subjects he would rather break his finger than try to enjoy. Well… Maybe not to that extreme. No broken fingers, but definitely a scowl or two.

"What are you so smug about?" Harry insisted at one point. Tom had grinned rather viciously at the passing mention of the Defence teacher who kept on being a nuisance to pretty much everyone — Hogwarts' staff included, but students most of all.

"Well… let us say I may have ended up being your teacher if some aspects in my life played out differently."

A world with Mister Riddle looking down at a classroom full of students, oozing authority just by breathing. And Harry among those young people, being absolutely mesmerised. It surely would have resulted in having a much earlier crush on the man. And certainly would have presented countless other opportunities for conducting their… business. ( _Another word, another word. Do try and find another word_.)

"I bet you would have been the strictest teacher."

"You are correct. Imagine the detentions."

Yes, Harry imagined them all. He and Tom in an empty classroom or in an unremarkable looking office. Always alone, always closer to one another than what was required. Or perhaps Tom had made reference to another type of detention? The kind where you manually scraped the floors. The kind Snape enjoyed giving where you were carefully watched over by a damn bird of prey. What a thought! Tom may be cocky but there was utterly no comparison to be made to the Potions teacher. Tom was too nice for any of that.

Then, of course, they got to _that_ subject.

"Do you think our mysterious Dark Lord is evil?" Tom asked, scrutinising Harry over the brim of his cup.

Harry was on the point of shrugging but decided not to. The gesture seemed too childish all of a sudden. "You may as well ask me if Santa Claus is a creep for sneaking into people's homes. Neither of them are real."

"Humour me, Harry. A brand new Dark Lord. Evil or not?"

"You talk about dark lords as if they're shoes," Harry complained and Tom arched his lips. "New, old… But okay, I'll try and answer. Evil… It depends what you mean by evil. Are bullies evil because they terrorise and hit others or because they enjoy doing so? Why are bullies even bullies in the first place? Do they find pleasure in hitting and humiliating others? I have a classmate at Hogwarts…" He hesitated but the curiosity in Tom's eyes spurred him on. "You may know his father, Lucius Malfoy?" Tom nodded. "Draco is cruel to the other children he thinks are below him. He calls them names, breaks their stuff, sometimes even uses violence. Bloody noses, broken arms. I don't think I've ever hated him, not truly, but the feeling is far from like. And then one day I realised someone needed to do something."

"So what did you do?"

"I… confronted him. Duelled him publicly in front of the entire school. Humiliated him."

"Why?"

"Fear. There was no other way to put an end to his behaviour and only fear would do the trick. Draco needed to fear _someone,_ anyone. I didn't enjoy it but no other alternative fit. Now… I do not know of this supposed Dark Lord… Perhaps he hurts from necessity or perhaps he likes it. Whether he is evil or not… I couldn't tell you because I don't know him."

Tom appeared pleased for some reason and then the topic was changed, though not before he muttered a " _clever boy_ ". Harry tried not to look too pleased with himself.

And so continued their discussion until Harry forgot the purpose of their meeting. The matter of touching and the like was lost among everything else.

By the time he had to leave, Harry was already enchanted. Tom studied him at the entrance to Diagon Alley and the gaze left behind the shadows of Knockturn. Harry would have come back all by himself but Tom insisted on playing escort and Harry obviously accepted sooner than was appropriate.

"I quite enjoyed your company today."

Harry stared up at the man. "Me too. So… we'll meet again?"

In a manner that was becoming familiar, Tom arched a brow. "Well, I'd like to."

"Me too," Harry repeated, prying his gaze away from those grey eyes. "See you soon?"

"Yes, Harry, see you soon."

Harry turned to look behind him only once as he strolled the streets in search of the Weasley twins, and Tom was still there watching him. Harry waved and Tom waved right back. Innocent enough for the bystanders.

* * *

It turned out that 'soon' was sooner than expected.

It all started quite innocently and wasn't even Harry's fault. His father just happened to forget an important stack of papers at home and desperately needed them delivered to the Ministry. James was too busy to come himself, Sirius as well, and Lily had her morning shift at St. Mungos. So like any good son with a tiny ulterior motive, Harry offered his services.

Now here he was, in someone's office, the important stack of papers scattered all over the table as his father and Sirius were caught in a lively conversation from which Harry waited for his cue to go. But then an interesting name came up.

"And now we have Riddle on our hands…" James complained to anyone who may be listening.

They were discussing none other than Tom, and Sirius was sporting a sour look. The same one he had when he spoke about his parents or Lucius Malfoy. Harry pretended to inspect an awfully boring cabinet, attempting to not seem too interested. Subtlety was the key here.

"I know what you mean. Prick's gonna try and convince the Wizengamot not to offer funds for our search into the Dark Lord. And considering his fanbase, I know for sure he's gonna offer himself as a candidate for the Minister position this winter."

"He's a politician," Harry blurted in a carefully _uninterested_ tone. "Elections and convincing people are in the job's description."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "So we're basically talking about a fraud."

James offered his supportive nod but this time Harry did not yield so easily. "You don't really know if he's a fraud or not. You just presume based on the fact Mister Riddle is an politician. So, _basically_ , you may be wrong."

His godfather appeared half impressed by Harry's argument and half annoyed at the logic of his answer. Meanwhile, James and the man at the desk were caught in an entirely different conversation.

"Well, kid, maybe. But I'm telling you, there's something off about the bloke. Now go home. Me and your father have a Dark Lord to catch."

Harry stared at him before taking his leave. _Dark Lord_ … As if there were not other, more important, things to lose sleep over. Things more _real._ Such as crimes and the like.

As Harry strolled down the packed hallways of the Ministry, his eyes searched for one tall figure. The one true reason for his hurry to be here. There were familiar faces here and there but not Tom. Of course, Harry could ask someone where the man was to be found, yet… it seemed awfully inappropriate to do such a thing. They'll ask for the reason and Harry would say… He would not know what to say.

"Have you missed me this much?"

The soothing voice brought Harry to a stop. Between all those busy individuals, Harry turned and faced who else but Tom; elegantly dressed as ever, gazing at him, and only a few steps away. With just one look, Harry was hypnotised. They met somewhere in the middle and exchanged secretive smiles, subtlety out the window.

"Father needed me," Harry half lied, chin held high.

Tom's smirk told many things. "Of course he did. Now… what if I needed you as well?"

"Then… as I was not busy, I suppose I would have come just the same. No reason at all needed."

Were people staring? Should Harry check? Shouldn't Tom know better? Yet nothing of ill intent was taking place. Just two people talking and smiling from time to time. All friendly human interactions went like that. It was nothing special, nothing that should anger his parents… Well, nothing other than Tom's presence, a fact Harry chose to brush aside. He'll deal with it when needed. Yes, there was no need to worry just now.

"Harry, I have a proposition for you," Tom spoke in a low voice, inching closer than was entirely appropriate. "Taking into account our previous agreement, would you like to pay me a visit this weekend? At my house. To settle our affairs?"

Harry's heart was suspended in his throat. This was becoming terribly real. He felt as if he was standing at the entrance of an enchanted forest, at times stealing looks to the safety behind him but burning to sprint between those trees full of danger. But soon the reluctance was forgotten and Tom's voice brushed his ears in a way that Harry could never say no to.

"Yes, I'll come," Harry responded, already thinking of ways to sneak out of the house undetected, heart racing as if he were running.

"Brilliant. Wait for my owl."

Tom appeared incredibly pleased, both with Harry's answer and Harry himself. Rising his chin, a black curl fell at the corner of Tom's eyes. Truly, Harry could not find him anything but devastatingly handsome. He clenched his hands at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out and touch the older man in such a public setting.

"And Harry?'

"Yes?"

The corners of Tom's lips were arching in a smile. "Nothing of great importance. I merely wanted to let you know how pretty you are."

 _Pretty_. Harry's lips followed Tom's example and curved. He would be lying to deny his pleasure at hearing the word, and heat coiled in the pit of his stomach. Those eyes of Tom's… Perhaps Harry was falling in love. Or perhaps it may prove nothing but a crush.

Not much happened after this exchange and their conversation cut itself short. But the most notable moment, at least in Harry's mind, was when Tom left and — by accident or not — brushed against Harry. Harry was inclined to believe it was the latter though, as the halls of the Ministry weren't that crowded just yet. If skilled enough, one could even dance around here.

Biting his lower lip to keep the stupid grin off his face, Harry left and wondered if Tom gazed after him.

When he returned home, the thought still refused to leave Harry's mind. Now… preparations needed be made. The Weasley twins proved receptive to his letter and offered their undying support for his risky date (if only they knew how risky it _truly_ was). Basically, the twins would say Harry was with them if an excessive curiosity struck his parents. In Harry's opinion, the plan was a solid one and when an unfamiliar owl arrived with all the necessary details of his and Tom's meeting, he memorised each word before burning it.

Friday night couldn't come any sooner.

As mentioned before, all was going well until one late dinner in the usual company. His parents and their friends were once again discussing this potential Dark Lord so after finishing his baked potatoes, Harry excused himself to retreat to the privacy of his room. He resumed his reading from a few days ago when a knock interrupted his quiet.

Remus was at the door, offering Harry a tight smile as he pulled out a chair. The air smelled of trouble. Harry crossed his legs and waited.

"I don't mean to intrude," Remus began. He sounded as if the upcoming subject brought him great discomfort. "But… it was an accident, so I need you to understand I did not pry. Harry, when you delivered those papers back to James, I was just heading over to him to finish some procedures and could not help but see you in a rather close interaction with Tom Riddle. It was a little noisy so overhearing proved difficult but I detected some familiarity in both your voices. I haven't said a word to anyone but, Harry, what business do you have with this man?"

It was no use lying now because Remus must have already overheard the wild pounding of his heart. Just to be sure, just to be certain their secret was safe, Harry decided to confess the closest thing to the truth.

"Don't worry, I know you would never spy on me. Tom and I are friends. I never mentioned this before as you know what father and Sirius are saying about politicians, about him. And I thought it's better this way. Not to lie to them, just… to say nothing."

"Friends?"

"Friends," Harry repeated in as steady a voice as he could muster.

Remus didn't seem entirely convinced as he ran a hand through his messy hair. But it was no matter, because Harry knew him. Based on what little information he possessed, Remus would not accuse Harry or Tom of any ill doing. Least of all tell on them to James and Lily. As it was, friendship may prove a surprisingly valuable excuse. It wasn't even a lie, per se. He and Tom _were_ friends.

A brief conversation disguised as 'catching up' followed as Remus attempted to chase the awkwardness away. But as soon as he left, bidding Harry a good night, Harry jumped out of bed to reach for ink and paper. Tom needed to be informed of this unfortunate development.

* * *

When he received the letter, Tom had frowned down at it. How irritating and how regrettable were the werewolf's abilities… But at least Tom had an inkling on what was soon to happen. The man was bound to seek him out, out of worry for the boy's wellbeing and general paranoia.

For now, Tom's eyes skimmed over the Ministry paperwork and then his own, making a quick read of the latest pursuits of James Potter and his idiotic companion, Black. They had gotten a little too close to arresting one of his followers three days ago. No one important but Tom could not take that risk with someone else, someone who possessed valuable information. His days were full but as soon as possible there would have to be an Unbreakable Vow made, at least with a few key individuals. Having Lucius Malfoy on a leash offered room for a variety of approaches and any betrayal from him was out of the question. So until the vow could be made, Tom had work that needed to be done.

His previous theory became reality only a day before Harry's visit, when Remus Lupin arrived at his house and asked if they could have a talk. Tom abandoned his experiment in the basement and went to meet the man, countless spells preventing the werewolf from catching any scent of corpses on his skin. Tea and biscuits were served as rain began to pour outside.

"Is this about the funds? Regarding the search for the supposed Dark Lord and my public disdain of it?" Tom asked, knowing well enough that this was not the reason behind the late visit.

The werewolf's eyes flashed to his and Tom steadily met his gaze. How amusing this man was… If only he could see himself. Tom had the strangest urge to laugh at his stupidity. Perhaps he should tell him how he was going to fuck Harry… Or perhaps let him watch the whole affair? Tom's smile turned genuine at the thought.

"No, this is not about the Dark Lord. This is about Harry Potter and your _supposed_ friendship."

"Pardon me if I'm mistaken, but I do not understand your dubious tone, mister Lupin. Harry and I are friends. This bothers you. Is it because of who I am that you are so irresolute? You are a dark creature. You sometimes use dark magic in your line of work. So do I. Why should you be allowed a bond with Harry and I not? Where's the fairness in that?"

Remus Lupin had not touched his tea.

"Listen… Perhaps you are right and I'm prejudiced, especially due to your position in the Ministry. After all, James is my friend and this is precisely why I've kept your bond with Harry to myself. I merely wished to make sure he isn't hurt in any way. The boy is too wonderful to endure any misery."

Tom drummed his fingers against the arms of his chair — _one, two, three, four_ times. "Oh, I agree. Harry is wonderful." His smile broadened and when the werewolf finally reached for his cup, Tom acted and petrified the man in perhaps the fastest movement of his life.

Lupin collapsed with a loud thud over his seat and Tom crouched down to his eye level, sighing. "You know… your infuriating quest for the Dark Lord is quite meaningless considering he's talking to you this very moment." The werewolf's eyes widened comically, the only part of his body still operational. "Yes, Remus Lupin. I am the Dark Lord you and your own are so desperately hunting and fantasising about. Now, to move back to my dear Harry. He is mine and none of you are invited to interfere with that fact. Well… to tell the truth, you kind of are. So tomorrow night watch carefully."

A swish of his wand and on the floor of his living room Remus Lupin no longer rested, but an ivory teacup. Ah… the wonders of Transfiguration.

"You know what they say…" Tom spoke to the cup as he picked it up. "A family friend is nowhere near as valuable as fine dinnerware."

The mug, of course, said nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

beta by the amazing Vanillaghost whom I thank for all the help with all my heart:)

* * *

Harry walked past Tom's doorway with a small crimson bag over his shoulder; pyjamas and a change of clothes for tomorrow. He was spending the night at a friend's house, after all.

Tom owned a nice living space down in the muggle village the man had Apparated them to. Little Hangleton, if Harry had not read the street signs wrong through that storm. The weather had been dreadful ever since yesterday evening so, magic or not, he was happy to be out of the pouring rain and inside this warm and inviting house. Not quite as huge as Malfoy Manor but Tom's place was still larger than the average wizarding home. It appeared Tom Riddle was one wealthy individual.

"Off with your shoes and jacket. Make yourself at home."

Tom took hold of his bag and levitated it up the staircase, away from sight. At Harry's curious gaze, he elaborated: "There's only us here. I don't have any house elves, their presence irritates me."

Harry shivered at the implication and Tom watched. A hand found its way onto his shoulder and Harry was lead upstairs after a brief question of ' _Are you hungry?_ ' to which he responded with a firm ' _No'_.

There was no guest room for him, it seemed. Instead, the chamber they entered was previously occupied even if Harry's luggage waited at the foot of the king-sized bed. Black sheets gave the illusion of a deeper and more haunting darkness than the one lurking outside the windows. It matched Tom's persona like a glove.

 _This was Tom'_ _s room._

"Are you frightened? Do you wish for separate quarters?"

Harry faced Tom whose hands were inside the pockets of his trousers, the both of them standing in the middle of the chamber. "A little, and no," he confessed, addressing both questions. "But I have a question of my own. Is it going to hurt? When you… you know… Just out of curiosity."

Such a childish thing to say yet Harry did not regret it. Tom deserved the truth and lying to someone you cared about was a stupid alternative. Trust could be broken so easily — he knew as much — and at the moment, he trusted the older man a great deal. People who shared secrets usually shared a great number of other bits and pieces and Harry would like to share with Tom as many things as possible.

"A little," Tom replied, paying back this trust. "But pleasure will follow and believe me when I say I'm going to take very good care of you. I'll kiss you better and hold you tight. Do you want me to?"

All this was a show for Harry's confidence. Usually so brave… But now, not so much. With a kiss to his nose, a kiss to his cheeks, another to his forehead, Tom made Harry giggle as he leaned down to reach his face. He picked him up like a child, both laughing while he clutched Tom closer to him, feeling his steady heartbeat soothing his own heart. Pressing his lips to the exposed neck, a flash of white in the enclosing darkness caught his eye — which proved to be two tiny teacups on a silver tray, one blue and one ivory.

Then Harry's back met the sheets and his breath hitched in his throat, all else forgotten… Like a god, Tom stood above him, breathing heavily, eyes blazing, demanding absolute regard. With great purpose, he wrapped his hands around Harry's ankles and spread his quivering thighs. Then down he came, between those open legs, resting his forearms on each side of Harry's head. Stared at him as if he wished to eat Harry alive.

Hands ghosted across Tom's broad shoulders as Harry licked his own suddenly dry lips. "Tom, you're so handsome. Like… really handsome. The most handsome!"

"And you're so pretty I could stare at you forever," Tom replied with a smirk, fingers playing with the curls at Harry's nape and twisting each strand around his fingers. "A pretty little thing. All mine, in my bed, parted lips, ready for me… Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Yes, sir."

Both blinked at one another before Tom tilted his head and they were kissing for the very first time. A most strange sensation, yet not entirely unwelcome. As it was for everything else, he supposed it just took some time to get used to.

Harry's mouth was skilfully coaxed open as a tongue traced over his lips and a few nips were added here and there. Harry may not know anything about these activities but pressing his body closer to Tom appeared like a brilliant idea. A sweet victory, judging from the way the man groaned into his mouth when Harry secured his legs around his middle.

With his lips against the shell of Harry's ear, Tom spoke — confessed, _threatened_.

"Pretty Harry with green eyes and rosy lips… I want to wreck you. Have your tiny little body stretched around my cock, moaning nothing else but my name… Tom, Tom, Tom."

" _Tom_ _, Tom_ _, Tom,_ " Harry echoed, pressing all the right buttons _for he knew, he learned_.

"Fuck."

Tom's greedy mouth returned to his and Harry welcomed it like a drowned man seeking shore after being lost at sea. The body pressing him down into the mattress was larger than his own in every possible way. Keeping him in place simply by being there. Harry gasped when Tom held him even closer, those words coming back to him like a song stuck in one's head: _I want to wreck you._

 _Then wreck me,_ Harry's body said, _but kiss me after. And hold me tight._

As if knowing what he thought, hands creeped between Harry's thighs and traced invisible patterns. Nails scratched skin as hands groped, squeezed, and stole whines from his lips. Perhaps Harry was particularly sensitive or Tom was just this good at bringing tears to the corners of his eyes. But then a wave of shame hit Harry.

Here he was, legs spread with this grown man doing things to his body that Harry had only read about in books and heard from classmates in hushed whispers and laughs. Things married couples did in the privacy of their bedroom. In this bed, such acts like these were taking place but the participants were far from being married. Yet still he and Tom… acted, and thoroughly so.

Unlike or alike an attentive husband, Tom proceeded to do a cruel move.

Clothes faded into nothing before he took Harry into his mouth and those hands keeping Harry's hips glued to the mattress went lower, cupping his ass. Becoming abruptly wet and moist on his skin, one long finger went _inside_ Harry and _curled_ , as if playing a game. Pricks of stars burst in front of his eyes and Harry arched his back, making to twist out from the hold and pull away from the intrusion. But Tom was having none of it, pushing his own face against Harry's stomach, against the pressure Harry both sought and aimed to get away from.

"No running away, darling. Breathe, Harry, breathe. Look at me and breathe. There, just like that. Good boy. Eyes on me."

Doing as he was told, and with now two fingers scratching at his inner walls, Harry opened his mouth to plead to _take it out, please just take it out._ But the expression on Tom's face made him pause. He looked like a starved wolf pouncing on its prey. There was want, desire, fire, and playfulness. Harry took a deep breath, anchoring himself to those grey eyes drinking in his every reaction. Every flinch, every gasp, every teardrop, Tom witnessed it all. Lips trailed over Harry's stomach while fingers twisted deep inside him.

And Tom kept on speaking… to him, for him, words words words. "Good boy, my boy, my Harry, my pretty boy." He seized the hands Harry had subconsciously pressed over his mouth to muffle his mewls and trapped them against the pitch black sheets over his head. "Be as loud as you wish, there's only us in here. I want to hear you."

Harry cried out, his now freed hands seeking and finding an anchor in Tom's hair. His breath fanned over Harry's bare stomach. It went like this for a while until Harry's body eased and Tom's trembled. _I'_ _m the one doing this to him._ Harry's whines and his quivering limbs, starry eyes and naked skin. He did not perceive himself as desirable but obviously Tom did. The fiery craving palpable in the air was the evidence.

Thunder roared like a wild beast in his head when Tom pushed himself inside, bigger than fingers, bigger than Harry had imagined the man could be. In spite of his whimpers and Tom's proximity to his lips, he was not kissed and promised to feel better. Merely observed and studied while his twitching body was impaled. Fingers trailed down his middle and then, horrifyingly, pressed over a lump in Harry's stomach. Harry released a sob at the revolting sight.

"I can see myself inside you," Tom was murmuring, hips caught in the tiniest of movements, placing more pressure over Harry's stretched skin. "Fuck, I can _feel_ myself inside you."

Those swear words inexplicably made Harry raise his hips, made him want in the dirtiest sort of way. Like a knowing teacher, Tom showed him how. And fuck they did. Hips smashed together, Tom's cock burying inside of him, all wet and slippery as all kinds of lewd noises escaped Harry's body or his lips. _Tom'_ _s cock was inside his ass, in the place from where he_ —

Harry's back collapsed back on the bed. "Please… too much… I can't… Just let me rest."

In answer to his pleading, Tom folded him in half until his legs were pressed to his chest. He raised himself over Harry, black hair glued to his forehead by sweat, his face red. Tom did not look like the usual Tom. He looked wrecked. Not polished, not elegant… just wrecked. Yes, Harry's request had been answered.

At last, their lips met again and so did their tongues. When they pulled apart, Tom was staring down at him, fucking himself into Harry until Harry's body simply gave out and allowed the man between his legs to just go on. He had no voice anymore, no force behind his movements, just stars… Harry just laid there, taking it all in. _How_? He was not sure how his body did not falter… that it still took all of it in. But it did. Or perhaps Tom enjoyed doing all the work. Perhaps active participation was not mandatory.

Amazingly, this still went on well into the night.

* * *

The ceiling was white. The light was warm. There was no rain, no birds singing, just uncanny silence as Harry slowly pushed himself into a sitting position surrounded by countless pillows. The other side of the bed was empty and cold, Tom long gone.

On quivering legs and with an aching lower body, Harry scrambled through his bag, pulling out fresh underwear and clothing. He dressed with the agility of an ill patient, wincing as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Yesterday's garments were found carefully folded on a chair next to a table full of books and a tea tray with no cups. The thought of Tom seeing to his clothes made a storm brew in Harry's empty stomach. Of course; there were no house elves, just the two of them. It made perfect sense.

He watched his pale reflection in the enormous mirror from one of the bedroom's walls. Familiar at first, but upon further thoughtful inspection, bruises met his eyes — over the column of his throat and like a bracelet around his wrists. Harry stared, thinking it was only fair. What they've done had to leave some kind of trace. It had to.

He decided to go down. The stairs did not creek and Harry wandered through an unfamiliar place yet soon found Tom in the living room. The man raised his grey eyes from the letter he was reading, gaze measuring Harry up and down. Not before long, a grin emerged.

"Morning, Harry. Join me."

It appeared the Tom from last night had not yet disappeared. Harry approached the couch with caution. Why caution? He would not know how to explain it even to himself but the feeling persisted. Harry had no fear of the man — not by far — but something made his breathing come sharp. He accepted the offered hand tugging him across Tom's lap. A wince shook his body at the contact with his legs, the uncomfortable stretch of his ass bordering on painful. Hands once again confined his wrists, supervising the damage.

"Say something, Harry," Tom said. "Silence is not as harmless as they claim."

"I… Did I do well?"

Judging by Tom's face, Harry had managed to utter the wrong thing yet again. But the fixed expression ended in rich laughter.

"Harry, Harry… you certainly performed."

Then he was kissed and Harry supposed he couldn't have said something _that_ wrong. With Tom's arms around him, even the aches faded among the rest. He clutched the man tighter in response, kissing both his cheeks as soon as their lips parted. If possible, Tom looked even more handsome with his tousled hair and wrinkled white shirt. Imperfect yet still perfect. Harry could appreciate his skin all day long.

"You did very well," Tom repeated, trailing one long finger down Harry's face. "Better than expected yet not spectacular. No, my Harry, do not frown. It was not meant as an insult. So young and so ignorant in such affairs… I meant only that I am infatuated with you to the point that even your occasional clumsiness and lack of experience makes my blood boil. You could show me one bare ankle or the birdlike bones of your sternum and I would lose my mind like a perverted old man. You do well only by breathing," Tom concluded against his lips, holding Harry's face between his palms and smiling softly.

Opening his mouth with a shudder, Harry reached for Tom. He touched him and nibbled at his neck and gasped when moist fingers breached his entrance, his pants now around his ankles. In broad daylight and with red in his cheeks, Harry took Tom's cock. Fingers digging into those broad shoulders, he moved up and down and up again. He must have offered an adequate performance judging by the growl in the man's voice.

"Fuck yourself down on me," Tom ordered, like Harry was made for it.

And Harry did so until late afternoon. His legs soon appeared to be made of jelly and despite not eating since yesterday, he was not hungry. Just awfully tired and wishing nothing else but to collapse onto a warm bed and hide under fluffy covers chasing sleep. But he needed to go home or else trouble awaited.

When the time arrived, Tom dressed him like a doll, gifting kisses as he did so, hiding each bruise with a whispered word. One could never be careful enough. He kneeled to tie Harry's shoelaces and held his hand as they left the house.

"Next weekend, would you fancy offering the pleasure of your company yet again?" Tom asked at the edge of the wards against Apparition.

Harry nodded, hiding his face in Tom's neck. He did not wish to let go but eventually did after stealing another kiss. Tom took a second one just to settle the score before Harry left, heading for his house and gazing back only four times.

Inside his house was silence. Most strange on a Saturday afternoon. But home alone, with his parents nowhere in sight, Harry seized the opportunity and went straight for his room and his bed. With the thought of Tom on his mind, he fell asleep not before long.

* * *

A knock yanked him from his dreams.

Tom.

 _No, not Tom_.

"Harry, have you seen Remus since last time he was here?" Lily asked from the doorway, concern written over her features.

Harry managed to mumble a low 'no', shaking his head like a drenched dog. His mother's smile was a sad one.

"Ok. It's late, love. Go back to sleep."

At that moment Harry had not found any fault in her words. The questions only arrived early in the morning and a little past eight.

Harry washed, dressed himself, and strode into the kitchen where it seemed they had company. James' colleagues from work, judging by the sound of it. Yet the usual merriness was nowhere to be found. Even Sirius was present, sipping on an impressive mug of coffee that definitely wasn't made for coffee. His father stood by the window when Harry entered.

It was then that the news was shared. It was raining again and no one knew anything of Remus. As if vanishing into thin air, two days ago he had left his job at the Ministry at half past four in the afternoon and hadn't been seen ever since.

"Lily's at his place with Tonks and the baby," James explained while slipping on his coat, the other guests already on their way out, one goodbye following another. "I'm needed at work and then with Remus'… the search party… You've got food in the fridge — but of course you know how to cook, I always forget — and… will you be fine?" Harry didn't manage to respond. "You will, of course you will. You always are. I need to go now, Harry. Keep in touch, take care of yourself and if anything happens send Hedwig. Take care."

A fatherly hand on his shoulder and Harry was left all alone.

He opened up the window, staring down at their green garden that would soon turn into one big show of mud if left to nature's will. Harry decided to do just that, already knowing the rest of the day will pass just as slow as Snape's classes. Actually — no, nothing could be worse than those two interminable hours. Nothing.

Fishing an apple from the fridge, Harry returned to his room.

Where was Remus? Had something bad happened to him? Obviously his father blamed the supposed Dark Lord but there were so many other dangerous beings out there, how could they know for sure? Werewolves had their own world, what if those creatures had something to do with Remus' absence? Or something else entirely? Something unexpected.

With a vicious bite into the apple, Harry's mind went over the last time he'd seen the man, when he was questioned about Tom. A conversation no one else know of. Well… no one else besides the two of them and Tom. But it wasn't like Harry needed to cause unnecessary complications by bringing this to his father's attention. With how much he despised Tom, there was only one possible outcome. One far from justice.

Now… what should he do? With Lily at Remus' house for who-knew-how-long, James at work, and the search party on unknown lands… all Harry wanted… Well, all Harry wanted was Tom. But Tom would be at the Ministry as well. Maybe he should call the twins or Ron? But Harry didn't desire company that badly, not to mention how his current gloomy disposition was far from appropriate for meeting friends.

No, instead he settled on daydreaming about yesterday's events, about what he had done with Tom and what he allowed Tom do to him. The images brought shivers down Harry's spine and an ache between his legs, the kind that hurt in a good way, and at ten past seven the doorbell rang a single note while Harry was washing his sticky hands. He ran a hand through his messy hair and ran for the door, thinking; news on Remus! Or perhaps Remus himself!

"Hello, Harry. May I come in?"

Not Remus, not a Ministry official, not a family friend — but _Tom_ _,_ in his impeccable attire and infectious grin standing on the porch of Harry's house.

There was not a shred of disappointment inside Harry. For a few moments, he simply blinked at the sight, not believing his own eyes. This was surreal, the man's presence here. As if two worlds which weren't supposed to meet had finally done so. Tom was here.

"Of course, I'm alone. Yes. Come in."

Tom smiled as if he were already aware. He looked entirely out of place in his parents' house. _If they only knew who the visitor was_ _…_ _Or his purpose_.

"Are you thirsty?" Harry asked, manners finally catching up to him. "A glass of juice? Water? Or do you want something to eat? I can cook quite well. No food poisoning, I promise."

"How are you feeling?" Tom questioned, leaning against the doorway leading to the kitchen.

Harry abandoned the empty glass and his offers, inching closer to the subject of his dreams. He shrugged. "Fine. A bit tired, I guess, but otherwise fine. Some sleep did wonders."

"Good. Now… considering your parents are caught up in rather complicated affairs and you are condemned to a night of loneliness — and no doubt the first of many — how do you feel about coming back to my place? Perhaps for a few days? Take a worry off your parents backs by not torturing yourself with loneliness. Surely the disappearance of a dear friend is enough at the moment."

* * *

So now here he was, back in the man's house, back in his bed, sipping tea at ten in the evening while both of them were naked from head to toe.

Harry eyed Tom's sculpted body as he was handed the ivory cup — now no longer empty — before Tom returned to his writing desk.

"Careful not to burn your tongue. I rather cherish it."

Harry's cheeks burned. He left the tea on the bedside table for the time being, until it cooled enough to drink. And now… the imminent question, the one nagging thought that persisted since this morning, the one not going away.

"Do you happen to know what happened to Remus?"

There was no change in Tom's movements as he sorted through his correspondence. Eyes only arose to meet his when Harry's staring became too obvious and insisting, silence hanging like a psychical weight.

"Why do you ask?"

Here was something was faulty. Something about Tom… his lack of denial, the poorly concealed amusement with which he regarded Harry. It was as if he was greatly entertained by a person's disappearance and another's worry. The cruel disregard, the cold grey in his eyes… or perhaps Harry read too much into things. Seeing conspiracies where there weren't any, just like James with the inexistent Dark Lord. He was being silly, getting carried away by a single passing look. So, true to himself, Harry dismissed it.

"He's my father's friend. I was just worried. Don't think too much about it."

Tom certainly did not. They kissed, they fooled around, they talked and they fucked. Clever ways to pass the time. And just like a housewife (the man's words, not his), he was to remain there the following day while Tom returned to his daily chores at the Ministry. _Be a good boy and don_ _'_ _t wander around too much. For your sake,_ Tom had said before sweetly kissing his lips. Harry only rolled his eyes and opened his mouth for it.

But warning or no, of course Harry went exploring as soon as he woke at noon the next day. He did not bother with proper clothing — for whom? — and just covered himself with one of Tom's enormous shirts that came down to the middle of his thighs before proceeding on his adventure.

The living room was familiar by now and the kitchen was tidier than Lily's, mirroring the rest of the unoccupied chambers. There was not even a trace of dust and Harry was impressed. Not many young men living alone had their place looking this sharp.

Unsurprisingly, the library caught his interest next, especially the questionable volumes that first caught Harry's eye with a superficial gaze; black magic in plain sight. Not hidden. Harry couldn't say he was too surprised. Tom was Tom, not a ray of sunshine.

Still… Harry anticipated more, a secret he could tease Tom about between kisses. Yet there was nothing controversial to be found. How disappointing.

Harry was at the point of returning to Tom's bedroom when he noticed the brown door leading to what could only be the basement. It was in a strange little place. Just standing there like a silent promise, daring him to come down and have a look. Now, was he really interested in inspecting trinkets from last century and getting trapped in spiderwebs? Surely not, but as Harry was already at the gates, as it were, what else did he have to lose besides time?

It proved to be the only locked door in the entire house. _Secrets,_ _secrets_ _,_ _secrets._ Harry tried his luck with a modest unlocking charm. When it clicked open, suspicion spread. This was almost too easy, and so unlike Tom with his usual meticulousness. Lead by a morbid curiosity, Harry ventured inside, holding the bright tip of his wand to lighten the way.

Down he went, wary not to slip on the wooden stairs, not discerning a single thing at first. Such closed air in here! As if no windows were opened or, judging by the lack of any light, as if there were no windows at all. And the smell… he ought to tell Tom all about it. The smell of rotten eggs filled his nostrils and Harry gagged on thin air, already halfway to making his way back up the stairs when he saw the table, when he saw _him._ The boy.

With a flick of his trembling wrist, the nightmare came into sight.

His thirst for a worthy discovery proved no match to the truth, to the misery before his eyes. Stuffed into two of the four corners of the room, in piles mocking the concept of supplies, was corpses; the source of the stench, not rotten eggs. Harry's legs wobbled as he closed the distance to the center of the room, to the table where the dead body rested as if asleep. The boy could not have been more than six, with unruly black hair and small pale limbs twisted in all the wrong angles. And as dead as one could get. Harry's mind pieced all the pieces together when the bad dream transcended into something much worse; into horror.

"Well, my clever boy. I did say not to wander too much around here. The game was fair from start to finish."

Light threw shadows onto Tom's face. Harry had not heard him enter and now the man lingered at the foot of the stairs, blocking the only way out, a tall wall between him and the promise of safety. It was ten beats of his heart before Harry spoke, taking a step backwards, digging his back into the sharp edge of the table. Like a shadow, Tom followed. He walked when Harry walked, he stopped when Harry stopped. So Harry stood in place, chasing his terror away, as a cold purpose remained. Safety. _Be not the boy from the table. Don_ _'_ _t die._

"Why?"

Like an eager child, Tom tilted his head to the side. "Use proper sentences, Harry. Why what? Why I killed all these people? Why that specific young boy? Or why I lied to you? And to be honest, my Harry, the last question would be a false charge as I've never lied to you. Left out a few bits here and there, true, yet never lied. Remember that. So, a more mild accusation if you will."

"You're insane," Harry concluded, wand trembling in his hand as if terribly cold. "I… you… why are you doing this? For what purpose?" He stilled, cold sweat dripping down his back. "What are you going to do to me?"

"You're quite composed, a tremendous start. Well, to answer, I became quite fond of your presence. Yet, do listen to the entire story. First, the corpses; I am a Dark Lord therefore I need an army. Yes, yes, _that_ Dark Lord. The one whose existence you've mocked — no offence has been taken. Also, let us not move farther away from the subject at hand. Concerning the lifeless bodies, what you see behind you are experiments. Little dead soldiers with ears for my voice only, faithfulness embodied in their bones. Now the matter of _you_ … At first you were a side project that ended up capturing my interest a great deal, like none before. Be proud. And, as I've said, I've grown to enjoy you. The way you say my name, our little conversations, your sharp tongue — everything about you, really. Now this, this was a test and no, I cannot say for sure if you failed or not. I knew you'd come down here and see my secrets… in a way it was easier than telling you. So, Harry, what do you want to do?"

Harry couldn't have conjured something as wicked as this in his darkest nightmares. "What do _I_ want to do?"

"Yes," Tom nodded with great importance. "From how I see it, we have two alternatives. Either we go on from where we left of, now with this little additional knowledge, or… you do not go on. At least not in this particular form and state of mind."

"You'll kill me."

"No, Harry, I never said that. Twisting words doesn't suit you."

"After all this you can't just… I need time," Harry stammered, taking one deep breath after another — but the reek! Harry coughed and Tom watched. "I don't want to die but I need to—"

"Harry, this is a moment of truth so answer the question. Stay with me or not? Yes or no? Speak."

There was no wand aimed at his face. Only a hand, palm up. Harry's world stood in the balance. An unknown fate or the promise of relative safety? Familiar Tom or the one who stitched corpses back to life? The one who killed children? The choice was surprisingly effortless, perhaps already made from the minute the words left Tom's mouth.

Now it was Harry's turn to lower his wand. "How do I know you're not going to hurt me?" he asked, a last defence to counter the storm.

"You do not. But neither do I have the absolute certainty of your silence. I suppose we'll have to take the old fashioned alternative and rely on trust."

Trust.

Harry placed his wobbling hand in Tom's and the man smirked, pressing his lips to each finger, one at the time. So gently, without any trace of malice. As if they were still the happy couple from this morning. And Harry…

Harry could not keep his eyes away. This Tom, corpses or not, had begun to mean far too much to him, for his happiness. _Stranger danger_ indeed. Harry's chest was heavy with emotion, with all the affection and fear he felt for… the very-much-real Dark Lord. Yet, even after the horrifying discovery, Tom felt more like a man than a nightmare. How?

"You've killed Remus," Harry called out as Tom led them up the stairs to the real world, the stink of rotting eggs sinking away.

"No, not killed."

The story was left at that. Harry did not insist for more and Tom did not offer. Hand in hand, he was taken upstairs to get properly dressed, Tom's eyes full of heat as he watched Harry do so. Thankfully, nothing more was initiated and just like yesterday, the man played escort back to Harry's house and pressed a kiss to each corner of Harry's mouth.

"Don't disappoint me, Harry," he smiled, tenderly serving his threat and promise. "I never forgive."

Steadily, Harry returned the apparently loving gesture. "I know, and I'm not willing to pay. See you soon, my Lord."

And he left, not once looking behind.


	3. Chapter 3

beta by the amazing Vanillaghost whom I thank for all the help with all my heart:)

* * *

This time the house was not empty. Lily came to greet him as soon as he entered, motioning for him to follow her into the kitchen after a warm hug and even warmer kisses. Orange juice was presented and Harry busied himself by staring out the window, full glass in his hands and hating himself just a little. "How is Tonks holding up?" he asked.

"Why don't you invite your secret girlfriend over for dinner?"

Harry was lucky that his back had been to his mother. Truly lucky. There was no way he could have kept a straight face. He wanted to scream and smash things, and deathly sure his mother would still wait for his answer if he did.

"What do you mean?" Harry tried, finally facing Lily.

"Harry, I'm not stupid. We may be in the middle of a tragedy but I do notice you spending more and more time outside the house, not in the company of your friends, and returning home late in the night or not returning at all. Also, the _what do you mean_ pretty much gives it away _._ So bring her to meet your father and I. We don't bite."

"Him," Harry let out, setting wood to the fire. "Him, not her."

Lily's glass ceased its journey halfway to her mouth before proceeding again. Harry was kind of intrigued yet not entirely surprised. He knew his mom.

"Fine, love. Bring him to meet us. I'm sure he's a nice boy and we'll get along."

Wouldn't that be straight out of a dark comedy? The Dark Lord at a table with his parents, tasting his mother's cooking, sipping wine, talking murder. _Tom Riddle_ at a table with his parents. Should he dare pass the invitation along? Surely not. Yet the worst had already been done.

He smiled at Lily with an edge of bitterness. "I'll ask, but no promises."

Lily kissed his cheeks and ruffled his hair. "Good. Let me know when and what food to prepare. And, of course, the chance to warn your father. I want no murder at the family table."

The last part was meant as a joke and Harry pretended to be amused. He excused himself, faking tiredness, and went in search of Hedwig. The letter to Tom would not compose itself. As a matter of fact, why be nervous? Slim were the chances that Tom would consider the offer. Dark Lords were supposed to be busy with world domination and annihilating the people who stood in the way of it.

With the potentially disastrous invitation written and sent, Harry collapsed into his bed. Perhaps if he closed his eyes really tight and made not one but three wishes, today would prove to be a dream. But he blinked tears away when nothing took place. _Stop acting like a child,_ he scolded himself, hot tears trailing down his cheeks. No point in crying. At the end of the day this was reality. There was no way of altering it. And Harry had made his choice. He lived and was not on that table in place of the dead boy or scattered around in that pile of corpses in Tom's basement. Tom had offered the chance and Harry had agreed to it. What was done was done. Now… Was he a murderer for keeping his mouth shut to the horrors? No, it did not work that way, it could not be this way. He was simply stained, involved. An accomplice.

The response to his letter arrived half an hour later. Hedwig was offered a treat as Harry plucked the white envelope from her beak.

 _Tomorrow evening. Your parents will find me charming._

Harry stared at the written response, not believing his own eyes. It was an acceptance letter, a confirmation written in Tom's own hand. The handwriting was painfully familiar yet the content hid a maddening confusion. Tom had agreed to meet his parents. And the last part… they would find him charming? Harry seriously doubted it. But what was done was done, he concluded with sourness yet again. Now what was to follow…

'Havoc' was a good word for it.

Harry would have cried his eyes out if not for his mother being in the house, ready to seek out his presence at a whim for who-knew-what. Besides, an announcement needed to be made.

Exhaling, Harry put his happy face on and went to let Lily know Tom was arriving tomorrow. She seemed pleased by such a prompt response and it was only well into the night when she returned to Tonks that Harry realised the problem was not the Dark Lord whom his parents did not know. The problem was that is was Tom who they did.

Now Harry did wail into his pillows and then into his own palms.

* * *

Like a show, preparations were made. The table was set and the food ready along with the little family around it before, of course, the honored guest was soon to arrive. At this point Harry was not even anxious. A strange calmness had washed over him. Let it be done, he thought. He trusted Tom enough to have this end without a fight. It served his best interests, after all.

Harry walked with his parents all the way to the front door as soon as the doorbell echoed through the house, a mantra of _don'_ _t think about the basement_ replaying itself in his mind. And it worked, up until he had Tom right before his eyes.

James took a deep breath at the dreaded sight and Lily's shoulders dropped. Here went nothing.

"Riddle," his father sighed, keeping himself in check. "No offence, but whatever your business may be it can surely wait for one more day. We are expecting someone. This is a family matter."

Tom's smile was as arrogant as ever when his grey gaze settled on Harry. "Oh, I know. And I know it very well. Hello, Harry, glad we could see each other so soon. Now, I am most glad to finally meet my future parents-in-law." And with a trick worthy of a muggle magician, a pretty bouquet of white lilies was presented to his mother and the scandal commenced.

James proceeded to tell Tom to get the fuck out of his house (his words exactly) while Lily had not yet accepted the flowers and Tom looked only at Harry. _You know what I want,_ his eyes seemed to say. _You know, you know, you know._

"Mom, dad…" Harry began, striving for their silence and conquering it. "The many reasons for your disapproval are clear. The age difference, his political affiliation, your distaste for his persona, _him_ … But please. I love him."

It appeared not even Tom had expected this bold confession. Meaning passed between their eyes, something mute yet loud. Harry had exceeded expectations. From the look of it, Tom was half impressed and half guarded. And oh, how his parents' voices raised anew.

"—don't believe this, Harry, has he forced you? Touched you without permission? Love, this is wrong, he's — "

"I love him," Harry repeated, praying they would just stop.

"And I him."

So much for _I'_ _ve never lied to you_. This new one was yet another disappointment and it was only the beginning of the night.

"Harry," Lily pleaded, placing a gentle hand on his upper arm and seeking out his eyes and his understanding.

"Mom, please. Just this once. One dinner is all I ask. Please."

Harry knew he'd won. No verbal response was needed as Lily and James headed for the living room leaving the door wide open behind them. _Come in and ruin it all,_ it said.

Gift still in hand, Tom studied Harry before presenting the bouquet to him. They were only flowers and yet it felt like a deadly reptile ready to bite his fingers off. But as logic dictated, Harry's fingers remained attached to his hand when his left palm closed around the bouquet. "A little help?" he asked, pointing to them.

With a subtle movement of Tom's wrist, the lilies flew out of Harry's hand to seek a vase and water. At least that's what Harry supposed. But staring after them became silly after a while, so he faced Tom and knew they were both thinking this same thought. They had ran out of excuses to stay behind.

The clattering of tableware was a persistent noise, growing in intensity with each moment they drew near. It came to Harry then that he would rather be back in that basement than at this dinner table.

They sat next to each other to what felt like a funeral service, just one without a dead body. _Perhaps soon_ , his traitorous mind whispered and goosebumps broke out over his skin.

"I will be civil and well-meaning, for Harry's sake," Tom began when it appeared nobody else would. "Considering we're gathered at this table in spite of your obvious feelings leads me to the conclusion that Harry's wishes are of high value to you — which is as it should be. You are ideal parents and congratulations are in store for that. Mr Potter, I do not know your wife so I'll only address the most pressing matter at hand. The two of us have our differences but I want you to try as I will. And then, who knows? Perhaps we'll discover a few things in common. A hobby, a rare opinion, a common taste in books or clothing. Perhaps we'll even grow to like each other. Aren't most families this way?"

It was Lily who responded. "I can't speak for others but in this particular family we care about each other and we are happy whenever we're together. I hope you understand love is the reason for your presence here today, because Harry wants you to be and James and I want Harry to be happy. We don't like it but, for his sake, as you called it, we'll try."

"Can you stop talking about me as if I'm not here?"

Tom chuckled. "Not about you, darling, but for your sake."

James' face had begun to take on a green shade and he looked as if he was going to be sick at any moment. Was it the word _darling_? Was it who uttered it? And Tom… Tom was the picture of composure while his offer of a tentative truce went ignored, in not so many words. Or refused, depending on how you looked at it. Food became a wonderful distraction either way and Harry stole not-so-subtle glances at Tom, marvelling how those hands that so steadily cut through meat now had been inside Harry. How the had done other things to other beings, beings whose flesh rotted and smelled of death.

Harry almost dropped his knife in his lap and tried to chase the memory away. What was he doing? A murderer dining with his clueless parents. All because of Harry.

The next half hour was torture. Tom and Lily conversed while Harry and his father pointedly stared into their plates. Standard questions, straight out of a fucking cliche — _how did you two meet_ _?_ In the dark corners of a cursed shop. _How long has this_ _…_ _relationship been going on?_ A few days. _How serious are you?_ Harry dearly hoped this was nothing but passing entertainment for the Dark Lord.

Only Tom, as he would soon learn, thrived on crushing hopes and dreams.

"Future plans are in the future, yet I understand the concern for your only son's wellbeing. I am quite committed to Harry," Tom shamelessly lied. "So, in a few years, once he is of age, I wouldn't rule out marriage. That is, of course, if Harry wishes it." Those eyes stared at Harry, gleaming, seizing the opportunity. "What do you say, Harry? Marry me?"

 _Clank_.

Harry and his mother flinched at the sound of James' knife and fork meeting the plate, one after the other.

Two clanks, and suddenly all attention was on Harry. Waiting for his answer. Only that the trap was already set. What else he could say but —

"Yes, Tom, I will."

Many things occurred at once, yet thankfully no flying curses or violence. A choking sound escaped Lily while James was… awfully composed. It was all wrong. Harry wanted angry screams, wanted the quick temper of his father. Not this stranger and the disappointment in his eyes, the same eyes that previously lit up whenever Harry entered a room. Now it seemed he wanted Harry to leave the room. It hurt.

"Harry," James spoke, voice quivering. "You're my son and I love you dearly, more than you can ever imagine. But I will not have this, _I will not have this_. I can't force you two to part, it's not that simple and I see it. So you have a choice. Call whatever this is between the two of you off and be the boy I raised, or go out that door and never come back. Offer me the respect of making this choice."

So many choices today.

"James!"

In spite of Lily's exclamations, Harry would have kissed his father's hands for bringing an end to this charade. For protecting himself and Lily without even knowing it. Tom's game had changed and the players had deserted the table.

Harry stood, pushing his chair back and keeping his expression neutral. "I love you too. A house elf will come tomorrow for my things."

Utter silence fell as Harry deserted his home. Maybe not really silence, as the pounding of his heart overshadowed any other noise. So silence it was. When Harry went down the last steps of the porch he realized Tom trailed behind him, steps as slow and steady as ever. It remained like this until the pair reached the line of trees a few meters away from the end of the wards.

"This hasn't gone the way you expected," Harry commented, gazing straight ahead into the darkness with only stars shining above. "Precious family ties are now cut off. Marriage or not, it's all over. Facile accessibility to my father's work is off the table. Yes, you fucked me over and there's that. But your Dark Lord agenda will have to change… at least where my parents are concerned."

"I suppose so. I did fuck you, after all."

There was some humor in that. The trick was not to think about it, not even when they Apparated to the familiar hallway of Tom's manor. Strangely enough, it was already lit and his cheek remained unaddressed.

"Follow me, I have a surprise. Then we'll talk for as long as you desire."

This surprise announced itself as unpleasant to Harry's ears. How could it not? Tom was in far too good a disposition for it to be taken as anything actually good. The merry mood contradicted all the happenings of the last hour. So Harry was guarded yet not too guarded; death wasn't an alternative… at least not in the way he'd imagined it.

Then a terrifying scream ceased its journey somewhere between the back of his throat and his mouth, but never abandoning the cavity. This too was out of terror.

The _thing_ sitting on the sofa where Harry had ridden Tom's cock couldn't have belonged to this world. At least he had thought so… until now. Now Harry knew better. He stood in the doorway, petrified for quite some time until Tom moved past him and went near the _thing_ to place a teacup between its wiry palm before laying a fatherly hand on its shoulder.

"Harry, meet our son," Tom announced, as if he was presenting a distant relative who had come to visit. "I was thinking of naming him Adrius. Thoughts?"

Any word he could use to describe his emotions would be wrong or not entirely right. The dead boy from the basement who wasn't quite so dead was curiously gazing at Harry, seeing with blue eyes. He was terrifying by simply existing, even more so than the Dark Lord standing behind him.

How could many of life's so-called precious lessons proved to be all wrong. True love? A fairytale. The monster who perished at the end of the story? Yet another lie. What's dead was dead and buried? Proof of the opposite stood before him, waiting. Was all this lying deliberate? A witty way of leaving children to find out for themselves about the true horrors of life? Or was it all simply a mistake? The pain of experience was the most valuable lesson, after all.

In any case, Harry's feet carried him near the two as they watched. With cold sweat running down his back and his heart in his throat, Harry spoke to the… child. "Nice to meet you, Adrius," he lied.

"Nice to meet you too, Harry," it muttered with a small smile, excited as its eternal age dictated. "Tom told me many things about you… many, many stories. Happy stories. Are you going to tell me stories too?"

Tom supervised this attempt at a conversation with an amused, indulgent expression. It was disturbing and wrong, this dead little boy on this couch speaking and smiling as if he were still alive… Did he know he wasn't? Or was he? How did you decide on whether he was alive or not?

The boy furrowed his brows as if abruptly remembering something while Harry still busied himself with staring and trying not to lose his mind. The not-dead boy named Adrius looked at Tom and then back at Harry, something clearly nagging at his thoughts. _It was thinking_.

"Are you two my parents?"

 _No_ _, no_ _, no, of course not_. But… did it even matter at this point? In this strange tale Harry's life had turned into, all was possible. When even Dark Lords were his lover and young dead boys could be his son. What could he do anymore?

"Yes, Adrius. Tom and I are your parents."

The ivory teacup went smashing all across the floor, leaving the boy's fingers trembling. With liquid and sharp pieces laying at their feet, the Dark Lord sighed. Was he angry over this?

"Condolences for the wolf. Adrius, are you happy?

This could not be. Countless pieces scattered with a name hanging above. Was it… Remus? Dread downed Harry like in a slow motion movie, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. Horrible, terrible, horr—

"Are you happy?" Tom yet again repeated.

The question was not addressed to him but Harry felt it as close as if it were whispered against the shell of his ear, like a love confession. But no, the man only aimed at spurring a reaction, not really interested in the answer.

"Very much! Yes!"

What corpse that got to live again wouldn't be?

* * *

Harry was humiliated like never before. Playing the family charade, he and Tom escorted the dead boy into one of the spare rooms. Now with fresh sheets that no one would sleep on, and all the other necessities for a human being at his age. There was a wardrobe full of clothing in dark colours, a few dancing toys here and there, and quite a lot of books. The being called Adrius was left alone with one of the toy soldiers Tom had selected for him and the wishes of _a pleasant night_. Not _goodnight_ because sleep had no power over the dead. Not even over the dead who were still alive.

In the privacy of Tom's room where he could desert the farce, Harry twisted on his heels and shifted to strike the Dark Lord across the face, a few hidden tears already slipping from his eyes.

But Tom's hands were around Harry's wrists in a crushing grip that would surely leave another set of bruises for who knew how long. Harry wasn't able to land the hit and even face to face with the annoyed yet determined expression on the other's face, Harry's weeping did not cease. The tears and ache did not stop. Tom, it appeared, had had enough of it.

"Harry, I'll only say this once more so listen very carefully. You have two choices. Either spend the rest of your days crying over spilled milk or you dry your eyes and be with me. It's as simple as that."

Harry, at last, was allowed to snatch his hands out of Tom's grip. "Spilled milk? You — you fucked me over in so many fucking ways… fuck you! You would have used me and my family, you've killed Remus, you've killed so many others and now this child you're forcing me to—" his breath hitched. "Go to hell, Tom!"

Tom coldly stared down at him. "I love you too, darling." He had the audacity to smirk as he moved for the door, leaving. "I'll be downstairs. Sleep well."

By the time the vase from the table flew out of Harry's hands, the door was already closed. It smashed and fractured. Just like the teacup, just like Remus. Harry kept sobbing, cursing Tom and still craving the other's comfort.

In the dead of night, with dried cheeks and swollen eyes, Harry found Tom at the dining table with the lights still on. He was observed in silence as he took the opposite chair and stole the Dark Lord's drink from before his very eyes. The wine was bitter, calming his sore throat.

"More than anything in the world I wish I could hate you," Harry confessed once the glass was emptied. "Hate you like you deserve."

"And that implies you don't," Tom smartly concluded in his 'teacher voice', the one he spoke in at all times.

Harry's laugh was anything but humorous. "Ten points to our Dark Lord. He guessed it right, he solved the riddle…"

Grey eyes narrowed. "I have a question," were the words that escaped Tom's lips. "You see… I knew you'd come to accept this. My monster child, me. But still I remain unable to grasp the 'why'. Why are you still emotionally attached? Why did you come downstairs so early? Drink from the same glass as me?"

"Another good question," Harry uttered, eyes burning as the words flooded in. "All I know is that despite you messing with me I just can't get it out of my head…"

"What?"

"The simple truth that in this sick and twisted way we kind of work together. We've been happy for a few days, haven't we?"

And Harry loved him so much. He wanted it all back, the hugs and kisses, the laughs and dreams. But Harry couldn't say it and that much made it clear how important this love truly was. It evoked hot shame by being both his weakness and his desire. It was impossible to let these words pass his lips yet maybe he didn't need to. Tom knew, and Harry… he'll just wait and see as so many others did with their lives.

Tom poured him another glass of wine as the sound of a door opening echoed from above.

"Yes, we were happy and so we can be again. So smile, my Harry, you're not alone. You still have a family," the Dark Lord smirked, taking hold of both Harry's hands over the table, gentle and caring. "Me and Adrius, we are your family now. Perhaps you may think it as strange and impossible but it grows on you in time. Just like everything else."

 _The End_


End file.
